


Like Kin

by airdeari



Series: self-indulgent aoilight within [17]
Category: Zero Escape (Video Games)
Genre: 4 times aoi was a giant mom and 1 time he wasnt, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airdeari/pseuds/airdeari
Summary: It was like a sweet perfume suddenly too strong to breathe, like flying too close to the sun, where the air was thin. Trapped under the fog in his head were the just-audible voices of his anxiety telling him it was too good, too much, don’t trust this, it won’t last, it can’t, nothing ever does.“I don’t deserve you,” he said.“You do, and I can list the reasons why.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> chapters of this are kinda split up all over my constantly improvised aoilight timeline. i'll just give works that they should be sandwiched between for context if you want it, or you can just forget about that and assume that they're getting closer and closer as the chapters go on, they're all in linear order anyway.
> 
> the first is between "spring cleaning for skeletons" and "Orpheus"!

Light heard his sister talking from near the front door, her voice distorted by the space between them as she scrambled this way and that for her shoes and her bag and her house keys and this and that and the other thing she forgot the first time she passed it. He did not catch any of her words, except the last, “sleep.”

Light pulled the blankets closer to his face, warm and chilled at the same time. Sleep sounded like a good idea.

His colds were always swift and brutal visitors. Within the day the worst of these feverish symptoms would pass, and he would doubtless be well enough for Friday night’s recon mission. For now, though, he was halfway through a brand-new box of tissues, the trash can by his bed filling close to the brim.

“Hey, loser.”

Light gave a start at the voice from his door. His ears were too clogged to hear the warning of footsteps.

“Sh—shit, did I wake you up?” Light could still only barely hear Aoi’s feet against the floor as he came to Light’s bedside. “S-sorry, I just—Clover told me. ’Bout the cold. I… whatever, go back to sleep.”

Aoi had only been staying at the apartment for a few days now before this sickness sprang up. From his knowledge of the incubation period of viruses, Light was sure that the first time he had kissed Aoi, one of them had transmitted this infection: either Aoi as a silent carrier with a more robust immune system, or Light had it first and Aoi had simply not yet begun to show symptoms. Either way, because so little time had passed, Aoi was still stiff as a board in the presence of either of the Fields, but especially Light.

“You… okay?” he asked. “Just… you need anything? Somethin’ to drink? You had breakfast?”

Light shook his head without lifting it from the pillow. “My appetite’s poor,” he said hoarsely.

“Jesus, you’re _really_ sick, ain’t you,” Aoi muttered, his voice growing closer.

A cool hand slid under the hair in front of Light’s face to rest against his forehead.

“Hey, I’m gonna top off this glass of water you got. You get some sleep,” he said softly. “I’ll be back soon. You got your phone with you? You… you even got my number in your phone? Jesus Christ, I’m a fuckin’ disaster. Tell me your number, I’ll text it.”

“Why?” Light sighed, the only response he could muster to Aoi’s extensive inquiries.

“So you can… call me if you need something? I dunno,” Aoi mumbled. “I’m gonna go out and buy medicine and shit. Dunno how long I’ll be.”

That dumbfounded Light into another long silence without reply. Aoi’s phone was giving little clicks over its speaker as he turned up the ringer volume and started navigating.

“What’s your number?” he asked again.

“Why?”

“I just… the hell? I just said—”

“No, why… I don’t need medicine,” Light insisted.

“What the hell? Yeah, you need medicine, you have a cold!”

“Cold medicine only mitigates symptoms,” he mumbled. “It doesn’t cure anything.”

“Yeah, and you need your symptoms mitigated,” Aoi shot back. “You’re a mess, dude. I’m buyin’ you medicine. Gimme your phone number, c’mon. I’m dating you or whatever this is.”

It was a little bit removed from normal, but it was close enough to make Light smile. Everything in their complicated lives was starting to settle. That alone was all that Light had ever wanted. That they were settling beside each other was more than he could have ever dreamed.

He was asleep before Aoi returned with his refilled glass of water. He didn’t wake again until the gentle hum of the stove coaxed him out of a deep and heavy slumber. When he lifted his swollen head to relieve his congested airways, he felt something slide down his chest. His hand touched a blister packet of pills.

Aoi walked in on him washing down a pill with a swig of his water. “You’re supposed to take that with food, you dumbass,” he groaned. “Give this a second to cool. Bowl’s a little hot to touch, careful.”

Still a little groggy, Light held out his hand to accept something without thinking. Upon touching the hot ceramic and smelling the bouquet of warm broth, his heart was suddenly hammering in his chest.

“Jesus, hold it steady, it’s hot,” Aoi snapped, keeping his grip on the bowl. “Can’t you—oh, shit, ’course you’re not wearin’ your other arm. Yeah. Okay. I’m just gonna put it on your side table for now, alright? God, you didn’t even drink any water since I left, ’cept for the pill.”

As the bowl floated from Light’s grip and settled against the table, he said, in dumbstruck delight, “You brought me soup?”

“You bet your ass I brought you soup. That’s Boyfriends 101.” He slid off of the edge of the bed and hopped to his feet. “Gonna go clean up the dishes. Drink your damn water.”

Light drank the water, if only to keep himself awake and alert so that he would not miss it when the soup was cool enough to sip. Cognizant of that possibility, Aoi returned to the bedroom within five minutes to find Light spacing out with his hand around the empty glass. Light snapped back to reality at the sound in the door and reached for the bowl on the side table.

“Yeah, probably cool enough by now,” Aoi said, plucking the glass from Light’s lap. “Eat up. I’m gettin’ you more water.”

He could tell, from the scent and from the way the spoon drifted into and around obstacles as he stirred, that it was a chicken-based soup, with vegetables and possibly rice, but there were such interesting spices and flavors in the aroma. He might have burned his tongue on the first sip, too eager to try it, but as soon as the heat subsided, there was such an unexpected and unfamiliar depth of flavor—the savory chicken, an intriguing tang in the broth, a burst of subtle sweetness as he bit into the vegetables.

“Is it alright?”

Aoi returned to the room to the room at the exact moment that Light, with his spoon still in his mouth and his eyes fluttering open, finally realized something his foggy head had not been able to process until he tasted the freshness of the ingredients in his mouth.

“It’s got lemon and ginger for your throat,” Aoi said, setting down the refilled glass of water. “Might’ve turned out a little weird this time. I always made it in a huge batch in a Dutch oven for my sister, so I had to improvise it. There wasn’t any good bok choy at the store, either. Kinda made shit up.”

“You… _made_ this.”

He snorted. “What, you think I’m gonna feed you some shit outta the can?”

Aoi Kurashiki cleared his sinuses, cooled his fever, cured his common cold.

“So it’s good, right?”

“I’m dating someone who cooks,” Light realized, speaking very slowly and softly.

“Oh my God, you fuckin’ disaster. You and Clover eat like shit on your own, don’t you? No wonder she says you get sick all the time. Jesus Christ.”

“This is… very, very nice,” Light whispered. “Thank you, Aoi.”

The room was quiet for a moment. Then Aoi shifted forward, and his lips left a cool, tingling spot on Light’s forehead after a quick kiss. “You’re a goddamn mess, Light,” he mumbled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> takes place between Flower Language and impulse (buy)

“Once?” Aoi repeated, dumbfounded. “ _Once_ a year.”

Light beamed in defiance of Aoi’s audible horror and disgust. “I don’t have much reason to concern myself with my appearance,” he replied.

“ _Other_ people look at you,” Aoi snapped. “Is it, like, around the same time every year? Like, how close to November are we talkin’. I only ever saw you in Novembers before this year.”

“It’s usually around May or June,” Light said. “My hair’s quite thick, so it’s a bit of a relief in the summer, in terms of temperature.”

“Light?”

“Yes, Aoi?”

“It’s August.”

“I said _usually_. It was a cool summer.”

“Listen, I’m telling you this because I lo—I’m tellin’ you this as a friend, and ’cuz you’re obviously not gonna find out on your own,” Aoi said. “You look like shit.”

Light’s hair did not grow long so much as it grew _out_. His hair had all of the volume of Clover’s; if left to its own devices for too long, it expanded into a dense mass of fluff. When Aoi raked his fingers through the back, he could tug a strand as far down as the base of Light’s neck before it sprang back into place a couple inches up.

“Is this more of your bein’ stingy all the time? Even though the SOIS pays you through the roof for all the exploitation they put you through,” Aoi grumbled. “I’ll pay for a haircut, I swear to God. Maybe send you somewhere nice for the first time in your life, I bet.”

He felt the shudder that Light gave as his face curled with disgust. “Absolutely not,” he stated. “I loathe haircuts enough already. I’ll hate it even more if you intend to make a _production_ of it.”

“Oh, God, you’re like a little kid. _That’s_ why you won’t cut your hair?” Aoi groaned. “What’s your problem with getting a haircut? It’s relaxing.”

The expression twisting Light’s lips was one of deep, visceral discomfort. “What part of having a stranger constantly touching my head for a minimum of twenty minutes am I supposed to find relaxing?” he retorted, folding his arm across his stomach.

Aoi shut his mouth. He ran his hand through Light’s hair again, watching his face. Light did not react to the touch.

“ _I_ could cut your hair,” he said.

It took a moment for Light to respond, because it took a moment for him to realize that the offer was genuine. Even then, his face wrinkled up with confusion as he lifted it to where Aoi stood over him. “What?” he said softly.

“Serious. I used to cut my sister’s hair all the time. I know what I’m doin’,” Aoi said. “Does that make it better? I ain’t a stranger.”

“You certainly aren’t,” Light murmured, deep in thought.

While Light processed the possibility, Aoi kept threading his fingers through Light’s hair, one hand on each side of his head. He pulled the hair he gathered to the back of Light’s head, collecting a tiny ponytail. Light’s eyebrows twitched as soon as he noticed the sensation.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Aoi fought down a smirk. “You look cute like this.”

“Then the point is moot, and I won’t have my hair cut by you or anyone else,” he declared.

“Nice try, fucker.” Aoi gave Light’s hair a gentle squeeze. “Wanna get this done today? Since you gotta go out tomorrow night. Concert, right?”

Light hummed a sigh. “Yes, a concert. I suppose I should clean up for that sort of thing.”

“Mmhmm,” Aoi said, drawing out the sound just before planting a kiss on Light’s soft cheek. “Lemme know when you’re ready. We can do it in the bathroom.”

“A brazen invitation. I prefer to do it in the bedroom, personally. It’s more comfortable.”

“Dude, you got old hardwood floors, the hair’ll be a nightmare to sweep up.”

“Innuendo, Aoi.”

“Oh, go wash your hair, you dirty fucker.”

Light found Aoi’s lips in a quick turn of his head and captured him in a kiss through which both of them were smiling. The risqué jokes were better received now that they had, in fact, done it in the bedroom.

It also made it easier for Light to sit on the stool from the kitchen counter in the bedroom in only his underwear, an old towel wrapped around his bare shoulders, water running down his neck. “Trust me, whatever clothes the hair touches, it’s never gonna get out, no matter how many times you wash it,” Aoi said. “S’what it feels like, anyway.”

“Then what of this towel?” Light asked, his head tilting as Aoi worked a comb through his wet locks.

“You need new towels anyway. They’re literally already in the mail. I ordered some online yesterday,” Aoi complained. “Alright, I’m bustin’ out the scissors. Last chance to back out. You trust me?”

“The fact that I trust you is unrelated to the inescapable reality that I don’t want this to be happening.”

“Okay, well, you gonna _let_ it happen?”

“Reluctantly.” Light tipped his head forward with a small smile. “Thank you, Aoi.”

At the first touch of metal against his skin, and the slice of scissors, and the tickle of a wet clipping of hair tumbling down his back, he cringed, but at the same time, Aoi pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “Any time, babe,” he said.

“If you could refrain from further infantilizing me while I’m already painfully aware I’m being a tremendous child about this, that would be appreciated,” Light muttered.

“Jesus, you stick in the mud.” Aoi cut a line across the nape of Light’s neck with his scissors. “It’s either ‘babe’ or ‘fucker’ at this rate. Whaddya want from me?”

“Frankly, ‘fucker’ is preferable.”

“Damn.” Aoi’s hand fell still mid-snip. “You really hate it that much?”

“Mostly due to the current circumstances.” Light wrinkled his nose as Aoi combed through his hair. “Otherwise, I suppose I can tolerate it, only because I’m willing to put up with a lot for you.”

“Alright, alright, I hear you,” Aoi said, drawing out the layers. “You got a name. Might as well use it or some shit.”

Light sighed. “Now I’ve ruined your fun.”

“Shut up. You’re fine. Tilt your head up just a li’l bit?”

It was a successful haircut: quick, neat, symmetrical, and Light was only mildly grumpy by the end of it. Aoi decided to spare him the blow-dry, even if he did want to check how his bangs would fall against his face when they were not so wet.

“There’s hair all over the floor,” he warned. “How ’bout I just carry you outta the bathroom so you don’t get it on your feet, alright?”

Light seized up as soon as Aoi’s hands came in contact with his skin. “Don’t,” he said firmly.

“Dude, it’s like a meter, it’s fine, just lemme—”

When he felt his weight start to shift from Aoi’s pull, his shoulder jerked, and his elbow flared out, slamming Aoi right in the jaw and subsequently knocking a string of curses from his lips.

“Jesus _Christ_ , Light, what the hell?”

“Don’t _move_ me.” One by one, and shaking with the movements, Light’s legs rose and bent towards his chest. His arm snaked around his stomach, wound so tight he could grab at the flesh near his spine and squeeze it. “I barely know where I am at any given point in time as it is. I can’t _see_. Don’t move me.”

His voice had taken a strange quality, and his bony shoulders had risen up to the height of his ears as he tucked his head between his knees.

“Okay, just… fine. Fine,” Aoi grumbled. “Gimme your towel.”

“I’m sorry,” Light whispered.

Aoi tugged at the towel twice before Light lowered his shoulders enough to let it slide free from where he had clamped it against his cheeks. “It’s fine,” he muttered. “You didn’t even hit me that hard. I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, ducking his head even lower, as Aoi laid the towel on the floor.

“Ba—Light. Light,” Aoi corrected, shaking his head with a grimace. “Is it too infantilizing if I tell you to go lie down and I’ll make you tea?”

Light was still as stone, perched upon the stool. This did mean his hand stopped twisting and squeezing his skin, and his legs stopped squirming.

“I put the towel down over all the hair. Just walk on it.”

Slowly and unsurely, Light began to untangle himself. “Don’t make me tea,” he mumbled, holding his hand to his face. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Yeah, but you’re stressed to hell, and that’s the only thing I know can help. Rotate to your right a little more—yeah, there. Step down, you’re good.”

“Don’t make me tea,” Light uttered. He wobbled as he rose from the stool, his toes gingerly touching the old towel.

“Yeah, all I’m hearin’ is the ‘make me tea’ part,” Aoi retorted. “You like the honey chamomile to chill out, right?”

Light hesitated, and that was answer enough. Aoi gave his shoulder a squeeze and slipped out of the bathroom door before him.

“Honey chamomile it is. Get comfy.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place the day after the chapter previous - still a good ways before impulse (buy) I think.
> 
> I'm trying to get a chapter a day out in time for SOMEBODY'S, BIRTHDAY?? but the next chapter isn't finished and the one after that isn't even started so. (and i still need to put the finishing touches on their *actual* birthday present lmao)

Aoi was so engrossed in his laptop screen, eyes in a wide and unblinking trance as he scrolled and absorbed and theorized, that he did not hear the front door opening and closing, nor even the rumble as wheels ran over the floor down the front hall. The first he heard of Light returning from his late night concert was when something went bump, and then the weight of the harp slammed down, from its tilted axis for carting around, to standing flat, too suddenly to have been intentional. Aoi leapt out of the bed he had been hiding out in, still a bundle of energy despite the late hour, and called out a soft “hey” from the doorway to the bedroom.

“Aoi?” Light said, his voice barely controlling something very fiery. “What is _this_?”

Aoi flicked on the light switch. Light was standing behind the table in the uncarpeted section of the living room, likely on his way to the far side of the room to put his harp back. Like a video game NPC with too primitive an AI to navigate around obstacles, he stood with his hip against the table, gripping it, his face forming dark creases near his mouth and between his eyebrows.

“Oh, sorry, yeah, I needed to move the table,” Aoi said. “It’s, uh, there now?”

“Why did you need to move the table?” Light demanded.

“Well, first off, when Alice comes over, there’s four of us now, so we don’t even fit around the table when it’s pushed up against the wall,” Aoi complained, while Light pushed his harp back onto its wheels with a deep grimace. “I even got another chair to complete the set. Matching, so we don’t have to bring over that stupid stool that doesn’t even—wait, wait, wait, don’t go that way, there’s—”

Light pulled back when he heard Aoi, but he could not completely reverse the momentum of his harp before it knocked into the second reason Aoi had moved the table.

“What the _hell_ is that.”

“It’s…”

Aoi’s words sank back down his throat when he swallowed. Light swore with ease, and with much fouler words than _hell_ , but almost exclusively without emotion. This marked difference was almost terrifying.

Before he could get his reply finished, Light was reaching blindly for this new obstacle. He rubbed at the grain of the wood and followed the hard edges to where they lined up with the wall.

“Gonna tell me what kinda wood it is?” Aoi joked.

If Light had been able to focus his open eyes directly on Aoi, the boy might have died on the spot from the vicious glare Light threw his way.

“It’s… it’s a desk. For me,” Aoi said. “I needed someplace to do work.”

“And you didn’t think to even _tell_ me about this before you entirely rearranged the furniture in my apartment?” Light snapped.

“It—it was kind of an impulse thing, honestly,” Aoi admitted. “I didn’t—”

“An impulse purchase of a mahogany desk.” Light rolled his eyes. “Only you.”

(So he _could_ tell.)

“I didn’t think you were gonna—look, I forgot you had to bring your harp back through here,” Aoi protested. “I thought you were just gonna come straight to bed and I could show you everything in the morning, and I got all the moving shit done while you were outta the—”

“What possessed you to even _do_ this?” Light shot back. “This isn’t _your_ apartment, Aoi.”

“Yeah, but I—I wanna live here.”

Like ripping off a band-aid. That had been faster than he thought it would be, but much more painful.

“I wanna… move in with you?” he squeaked, staring at the floor. There was a scuff in the hardwood where the harp had hit it. “I’ll… I’ll pay rent and shit, I dunno.”

After a precarious beat of silence, Aoi stole a glance at Light’s face, then lingered. The creases had faded into blankness, a smooth sheet of marble, save for where Light’s lower lip was slowly falling open, as if to say something, but the only sound that came out for the next thirty seconds was a soft, “Oh.”

“I guess I shoulda… actually asked about that, too,” Aoi mumbled. “Before bringin’ in this huge fuckin’…”

Light startled out of his vacant stare and shook his head. “I—no, I had hoped it was clear you were always welcome,” he said. “I confess, I… simply didn’t think you would ever _want_ to…”

Aoi’s face went hot. “Shut up, I… I like you, okay? I… like you a _lot_ , and… it’s fuckin’ weird, and I don’t—I don’t know what I’m doin’ anymore, so…”

Light huffed out a laugh that faded into a sigh. “I don’t know what we’re doing, either, I assure you.”

“Le—lemme move your harp back by the couch. Go crawl into bed, nothin’s moved there. Yet. Uh.”

Light winced. “Aoi…”

“Just lemme move your dresser, alright? I’m gonna move it out from the wall so I can put mine next to it. I’ll show you around once it’s done, okay? Show you around this room tomorrow, too.”

Light scratched at his arm where his prosthetic joined onto his shoulder. “Could you show me now?” he requested softly. “It’s… making me a bit anxious to be unaware of my surroundings, that’s all.”

“Babe, tomorrow, I swear,” Aoi groaned. “You had a long day. Go to sleep. You can wake me up the second you get up tomorrow and I’ll show you everything, promise.”

Light’s left hand did not leave his harp. “It shouldn’t take long,” he murmured.

“Come _on_. I know you’re exhausted. You _never_ flip out like that unless you’re real tired,” Aoi teased. “Do I gotta pick you up and throw you in bed?”

“We’ve recently established that I don’t take kindly to being picked up.”

“Well, then, go the fuck to sleep, dude,” Aoi retorted. “Don’t test me. I’ll do it. I’ve thrown my sister into bed more times’n I can count. I’m warnin’ you.”

Light rolled his harp away from the desk and started to pivot it. “Would you at least let me move my—”

“Nope. Bed. C’mon. Leave it till the morning. Clover ain’t even here tonight, who cares.”

He lifted Light’s hands gently from the harp and drew him back towards the bedroom. “Aoi, please, I’m still wearing shoes,” he laughed, but Aoi did not relent.

“You can take ’em off when you’re sittin’ on the bed. Babe. You need to lie down. C’mon.”

“Aoi, is something…?”

Aoi all but shoved Light down to the mattress just as he was starting to work out that something was up. As soon as Light bounced against it, his eyes flickered open.

“Aoi?”

“Lie down. You like it?”

“Aoi.”

“You get back pain all the time from luggin’ your arm around and shit. You need this.”

“ _Aoi_.”

“And maybe I just kinda wanted it, too, so shoot me. Whatever. Is it—?”

With a sudden yank on Aoi’s wrists, Light dragged Aoi towards him. Their chests collided, and then they were lying in a pile on top of the new mattress.

“It’s lovely, dear,” Light sighed into Aoi’s ear, relaxing every bone in his body. “I appreciate it, I promise. The execution was a little unwise, but… really, thank you.”

“So you ain’t gonna kick me out?” Aoi mumbled into the sheets.

“Only if you ever try to rearrange the furniture without telling me again.”

“I _know_ , I know, sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

Light kissed Aoi’s cheekbone and hugged him closer. Had he not been wearing dress shoes, a tie, and a heavy left arm running low on battery, he would not have left the bed until morning.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one takes place after........ i don't actually know. all the later fics just kinda run together. definitely after impulse (buy) though.
> 
> sorry for the sudden perspective change for this chapter, i just felt it in my heart, and so.

For a while, everything afterwards felt like a dull surprise, if anything, beginning with the gunshot. I knew the gun was there, somewhat—I had been told, I even heard the click of it cocking—but when there was a sharp sound in my ears and something knocked me back, it was a dull surprise.

I lay on the floor in a daze for a while, expecting to be dead. The bullet ripped through my torso, right where I expected my lung to be, and I tasted the blood when I gasped. My head swirled. All sensation began to fade away, including the pain. I thought being shot in the chest would hurt more than this, honestly.

Minutes passed, and somehow I still drew breath. I wondered if I could stand.

Gentarou Hongou had killed my little sister.

I could stand.

The next five shots hurt more than the first, or maybe it was only the repetition that wore me down to my knees. My legs were gone, my right arm weak, but my left arm was machinery: it could grip with strength beyond that of a normal human. My right hand found the leather of Hongou’s boot when it lashed out for a final time, and so I made my left hand clamp down.

Fire was next. I just had to wait.

I heard the others screaming, telling me to let go. Another dull surprise, that strangers would care at all for my life.

I did not want to be saved. Another dull surprise, to look inside myself and find no will to live.

I deserved this pain in my chest. I deserved these kicks in my skull, my jaw. I deserved to die. Fire was next.

Fire was an agony for which I could never prepare.

Just when I had almost flickered out of consciousness to the sounds of the countdown ending, the fire seized my body the shoulders, gave it a violent shake, and demanded I feel every second of death. The air pressed against my skin as it expanded, before the heat transferred to my body. I thought it must be flames roasting my skin, and then I felt the flames set in.

Every other gripping, stinging pain in the world is compared to fire, and all in hyperbole. It drains the word of its power. There are no words left to describe what happened to me. Suffice it to say that, in those final, excruciating moments, I, who had calmly awaited death only moments ago, became helplessly, desperately terrified of it.

The first touch of fire was a lick along my back that set my robe and my hair alight. My body twitched out of my control when the flames crawled slowly over my skin and sank into the helpless flesh underneath. The metal in my left arm consumed heat in unstoppable gluttony—where it connected to my skin, to my bloodstream, to my _nerves_ , it seared into me like an iron. I opened my mouth to scream, and then I was burning from the inside out. There was no oxygen left to breathe; the flames consumed it, leaving only smoke and death that I was helpless to gasp in and cough out until I had no body left.

This was hell. This was Hell. This was my death, and my eternity thereafter.

Water.

The fire was smothered with a cool, damp touch.

A weak voice, out of breath, carried by a breeze.

Air.

“You’re okay, Light. Can you hear me?”

The cold spread to his head. He felt the scratch of terrycloth against his ears, an unpleasant texture that made his nose wrinkle.

“Light, c’mon, just say somethin’, _please_. Light?”

He needed to say something. I was not sure why yet, but it felt important. The voice felt important. He opened his mouth, but something tickled in the back of my throat, and he lurched into coughing instead.

“I swear to God, if this is just fucking allergies and I made it worse opening the window, I’m gonna fucking kill myself. Flip me off if it’s allergies. I’ll shut the window on my fucking neck.”

Aoi.

Light lashed out his arm, knocking it into the soft, firm, familiar feel of Aoi’s body. He grabbed hold of a shirt in a tight fist. “Aoi,” he rasped.

“ _Light!_ ”

Aoi’s voice cracked.

“Oh my God, Light. _Light_.”

A dripping wet towel was draped over Light’s head and shoulders. Icy water trickled down his temples, his neck, and his arm. It soaked into the back of his shirt. All at once, chills and goosebumps spread over his skin, and he curled in on himself. This was the chair from his desk, but his knees did not bang against the wood when he raised them.

“You—you okay, Light? Gimme your hand.” His voice was still weak, almost choked. “Keep talkin’. Stay with me. You’re okay.”

Light lifted his hand tentatively from his lap. “Where am I?” he whispered.

“S—sorry, I moved you. You’re okay. Still in your bedroom.” Aoi’s fingers tickled across the back of Light’s hand before giving it a gentle tug. “Just got you in your chair and rolled it in front of the window. I was gonna get you a glass o’ water, but…”

Aoi guided his hand to the dusty windowsill. Light pressed his palm to it, found the angles and edges, aligned himself with his world. He inhaled deeply, but that same phantom something in my throat choked him again. A wave of sudden heat flashed through him—through me—who was I—who was _he_ —

“No, no, no, Light, c’mon, you’re okay, you’re _okay_. You hear me, Light?”

Aoi’s hands gripped his shoulders, sopping towel and all. He pulled Light forward, closer to the window. Water to fight the fire. Cool air to flush out the smoke.

“Y—you—knew,” Light coughed.

“You… you got real warm, then you started coughin’ like crazy.” Aoi lifted his hand from Light’s shoulder to his face, a trembling touch against his cheek. “I thought—you looked like when… when my sister—”

The sentence died with his voice. His arms wrapped tighter around Light, squeezing so tight he wrung water out of the towel. His breath fell unsteadily against Light’s shoulder, where he buried his face. He began to shiver.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. This is—this is all— _We_ did this to you.”

Light repeated Aoi’s mantra. “I’m okay,” he murmured.

“I never wanted—I never—I’m so _sorry_ , Light.”

“I’m okay.” With an effort, he slid his hand around Aoi’s back and held him closer. “I feel much better. I’m okay.”

Aoi’s breath stopped for a few seconds. “You… you promise?”

“I promise.” He tilted his head to press his cheek to Aoi’s. “Thank you, Aoi.”

“D’you need anything?” he mumbled, his voice tired and hoarse. “I was gonna get you water. My sister always wants somethin’ to drink after.”

Light latched his fingers into the loose fabric of Aoi’s shirt when he started to move. “Could you… stay with me?” he breathed. “Just a little longer. I… feel safer with you here.”

Aoi unhooked Light’s hand from his back and threaded their fingers together. He stepped on the locks for each of the five wheels under Light’s chair, immobilizing it before he sat himself in Light’s lap, rested his ear against Light’s collarbone, and tried to breathe.

“I love you,” he said like a plea.

Light squeezed his hand and nodded.

He did not know how long they spent curled up together like this. Aoi told Light about every person who walked in view of the window, the color of each passing car, the relative size and altitude of every overhead plane, the exact moment the sun disappeared behind the adjacent building, and when the last of the color of sunset disappeared from the night sky. Between those moments, he rambled about his stocks, spoke quietly about the latest Crash Keys intelligence haul, and, in doing both of these, began to gradually talk about himself and his own feelings. Light followed his lead. They moved to the bed when the night chilled over the window, but the conversation went on for many more hours, until a pause of more than a minute saw them both drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have one (1) chapter left of this but zero (0) words written for it and i gotta post a completely unrelated Actual Present tomorrow so maybe i won't be able to keep up this chapter-a-day pace. if i do, then, smack me upside the head and tell me to go play a video game or something idk


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the thrilling conclusion finally arrives...! yeah sorry i like, moved last weekend, so that was a thing. getting back into gear with what i do best: That Gay Shit™

Quiet evenings were common between Light and Aoi when Clover was out of the house, whether visiting Alice or working late shifts. Light had his books, sometimes his harp when the silence was a little too stiff. Aoi had work; he always had work, piles and piles of it. When he was not tapping away at his computer, he stretched his legs pacing the room. Light brought a pair of books out to the couch to be near him, hoping to finish one and perhaps start the next over the course of the night. He cherished these calm nights spent in Aoi’s presence.

At least, he thought it was calm, until, after Aoi had paced away down the hall, he heard from the bedroom a familiar robotic voice asking, “ _Please say a command,_ ” followed by Aoi’s frantically whispered, “Shit, shut up, shut _up_.”

“Aoi?” Light called, then held his breath. He lifted his head and tilted it to better perceive the direction of sounds.

“ _I’m sorry, I didn’t understand,_ ” the voice responded to the quiet cursing. “ _Please say a command._ ”

“Holy fuck, shut up.”

“Aoi, what are you doing with my phone?”

“N—nothing! Shit. Nothing. Just… nothing.”

With a smirk, Light ran his fingers across the side table to find his ribbon bookmark. “Just _what_ , Aoi?” he insisted as he rose and set his book down.

Aoi gave a groan as his steps came stomping back out of the bedroom. “It’s _nothing_ , I just—I wanted to…”

As he rounded the corner into the living room, his voice was no longer distorted by the length of the hallway outside the bedrooms. It did not become clearer without the echo, however, because it dropped into a shy mumble.

“D’you have music on here?” he asked. “What d’you listen to, I mean. All I know’s what you play on the harp. I dunno what you listen to.”

A startled chuckle burst from Light’s lips, jolting his body with the force. “Really?”

“Swear to God, that’s what I was doin’. That’s it.” Aoi kind of joined in with the soft laughter, but he sounded strained. “I know it sounds fake as hell, but…”

“I don’t even think I have any real _music_ in my phone’s library,” Light sighed, holding out an open palm. “Much of my storage is occupied by auxiliary applications to assist with speech recognition and software navigation, and the rest is a constantly shuffling collection of audiobooks, which are _quite_ long.”

Aoi did not place the phone in Light’s waiting hand. In fact, he started tapping through it, once he had figured out how to unlock the phone, disabling the voice navigation system for this session. “Seriously? Audiobooks?” he muttered. “Fine. What’re you readin’?”

Light frowned. “I’m… in the middle of a lecture series on how mob mentality plays into religious ideology,” he said, the words rolling off of his tongue without his complete attention. “Perhaps that would be a bit too, ah, work-related to serve as a distraction.”

“Just play anything,” Aoi mumbled. “S’too quiet in here. Play _something_.”

“Do you not have your own music to listen to?” Light asked.

“That’s not the _same_ , it’s… it _is_ the same. It’s the same as I’m used to.” As he complained, his feet plodded with little half-steps as he jittered in place. “I need something… something different, I guess? I dunno. Just…”

“The sound of conversation, perhaps?” Light suggested. “Without having to converse. We could turn on the television.”

“Nah, TV’s too—TV’s not…” Aoi gave a huff of a sigh. One of his feet gave a little stomp. “I dunno, just, it’s too… too much something. Too noisy.”

“You _want_ noise.”

“Yeah, but it’s not—that’s—aw, fuck—”

“ _Please say a command._ ”

“Play music,” Light enunciated.

“I thought you didn’t—”

“Shh.”

Aoi held his tongue. A beat later, the phone responded, “ _Playing music by Rob Inglis,_ ” shortly before the dulcet tones of his narration picked up from where Light had left off last in an exquisite world of playful fantasy. Light laughed aloud when he ran through the syllables and found the ways the vowels matched to confuse the voice interpreter— _I_ and _by_ , _thought_ and _Rob_ , _didn’t_ and _Inglis_ , especially with Light’s hush to create the illusion of an S at the end of _didn’t_.

“The hell is this?” Aoi asked.

“If he speaks about a character other than Gandalf, I will be able to tell you whether this is _The Hobbit_ or _The Lord of the Rings_.”

Aoi gave a little snort. He set the phone down on the coffee table, where the speakers had a crisper echo, and plodded back to his desk.

“Bring your laptop over here and sit with me,” Light said softly.

Aoi’s strides paused for a moment before they continued on towards the desk. There was click of a charger unplugging and the scoot of metal against the wooden surface of his desk, and then the steps came back to the couch. He dropped himself into the seat with a grunt. Light slid further to his right until he could feel the cushions sinking towards someone else’s weight.

“Hoggin’ up the whole couch,” Aoi grumbled.

“No, I just want to be near you,” Light replied, running his fingers along the threads in the couch cushions. “Is that alright?”

From the sound of Aoi’s sharp breath, the honest affection had taken him by surprise. He sighed and settled himself into the couch. “Fine. Yeah. Fine,” he said. “I just… makes me feel like you’re readin’ over my shoulder when you’re right next to me like that.”

“I assure you, I am not.”

“I _know_ , asshat, I’m just sayin’ that’s what it _feels_ like.”

He tapped the same key a few times, then started typing something. As soon as the typing ceased, Light began to lift his hand, but within a few seconds, Aoi was back to typing again. He was hitting the keys with excessive force, considering the slim profile of the laptop keyboard. The storm of tapping went on almost continuously, long enough to full a few modest paragraphs with words. At the conclusion of it, Aoi gave a heavy sigh. For a little while longer, he drummed his fingers against the metal chassis, perhaps rereading. At the same time he gave a couple quick clicks of his trackpad, he finally let his left hand drop to his side. A few slow seconds later, Light touched the back of his hand.

He could feel Aoi’s whole world pause for a moment. Aoi inhaled, and forgot to breathe out.

“ _You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after._ ”

So it was _The Hobbit_. Light had not been wholly paying attention until that pleasant quote touched his ears. He slid his fingers into the spaces between Aoi’s and gave a gentle squeeze.

“May I hold onto this?” he asked.

The response was immediate. “Yeah,” Aoi said, and then neither of them said a word until the end of the chapter.

 

It was like a radio with both knobs jammed: the tuner between stations, just barely picking up trashy pop music from the lower frequency and Bible passages from the higher, and the volume turned all the way up, stuffing his entire head with that faint dissonance and loud, loud static. His right hand was scrolling the pages, and his eyes ran over the words. Sometimes he understood them. Sometimes he spent a solid five minutes going through all those motions while his head was somewhere else entirely.

Then Light would touch him again.

It started with just the soft touch against his hand. Then Light scooted just a little bit closer to Aoi, so that their forearms came into gentle contact. Then he tipped his head to the right to rest his head against the point of Aoi’s raised shoulder. Aoi exhaled, and his shoulders fell back into place.

There was an intoxicating warmth to these soft touches that Light pressed to Aoi’s body. The heat of his palms, the feel of the dry skin on his knuckles, the clean smell of shampoo in his soft hair, the sound of his breath warming and cooling his shoulder with every exhale and inhale.

The static was climbing louder, or changing pitch. Something in his head was changing, for better or for worse. All he cared about was that it was finally changing after what felt like hours, and that Light felt really, really nice against him.

His heart started doing something weird. His chest felt tight, like it was bound with tape, keeping his lungs from filling up all the way.

Light’s thigh slid closer, leaning against Aoi’s. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Aoi’s hand in a slow, steady rhythm. Aoi’s breathing only got shallower and faster. He watched in something on the brink of terror as Light lifted his other hand from his side and slid it slowly across Aoi’s chest, settling over his heart.

As the narrator began, “ _Chapter five,_ ” Light whispered, “Could you put your laptop away?”

Aoi snapped the laptop shut in the middle of a paragraph. It clattered as he shoved it haphazardly to the coffee table. The rest was desperate, almost instinctive. He grabbed Light’s arm and yanked it around himself, and then all of his weight was curled up in Light’s lap, pressed against his chest.

“Fuck you,” Aoi grumbled into Light’s shirt. “How th’fuck you know me like this. Shit.”

“You and my sister are very similar, dear.” He smoothed down Aoi’s hair and gave it a soft kiss. “You get just like her when you’re restless. Is there something on your mind?”

He shoved his face deeper into Light’s ribcage and groaned. “Nothin’. Just… just _loud_ nothin’, y’know? Just fuckin’ nothin’ that won’t shut up.”

“Do you want medicine?”

Medicine. For the first time, Aoi understood with lucidity that what was happening to his head was a spell of anxiety. Medicine would turn the volume down in his head, but the radio would stay stuck between channels.

“I… I dunno. Not really. I just… I just don’t want it.”

Light kissed his hair again. “You don’t need it,” he said. “You’re alright. Let me know if I can do anything.”

There was something else rising up beside the anxiety, something Light himself was stirring in his heart. It was like a sweet perfume suddenly too strong to breathe, like flying too close to the sun, where the air was thin. Trapped under the fog in his head were the just-audible voices of his anxiety telling him it was too good, too much, don’t trust this, it won’t last, it can’t, nothing ever does.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said.

To that, Light gave a laugh. He wrapped both arms around Aoi and held him close and secure against him. “You do,” he said, “and I can list the reasons why.”

When he spoke for long stretches about an area of knowledge, the sound of his voice turned into a soft tapestry woven around the room, filling it with warmth and color, stitching images with his words. Sometimes he told stories of mythology, sometimes he talked of arts and sciences. Today he spoke of a boy who made him soup when he was sick, a boy who cut his hair, a boy who loved him so much that words alone could not express it, a boy who would fight his demons and stay by his side when he was afraid.

Aoi’s heart kept doing that something weird, and he was starting to realize what the name for that was, too. It was all tied to the way he wanted Light’s voice to fill his ears forever, to never leave the warmth of this embrace, to somehow have _more_ , to _give_ more, to be as much in this moment as humanly possible and cherish every second of it.

“You’ve been so kind to me. You deserve kindness in return,” Light murmured. “You deserve the world.”

His breaths were coming out in shudders now. He could not tell how much of it was anxiety, and how much was this familiar, yet alien feeling fluttering in his tight chest. His voice was weak when he spoke.

“Do you… ever get this feeling, where…” He held a hand over his aching heart and sighed. “About your sister. Where you just… You love her so much, it… it _hurts_. You just want _everything_ for her.”

Light sighed. “Yes, precisely.”

It was hard to form the next words. Aoi made his mouth move before he had made up his mind about how to say it.

“Before I,” he said weakly, “before we… before _us_ , I didn’t think I could ever… I didn’t think I would ever feel like this about anybody else.”

Light’s chest gave a sharp dip under Aoi’s cheek as the air rushed out of his lungs. His arms were trembling a little as he tightened them around Aoi’s slender body. He nestled his face into the thick of Aoi’s hair before letting out the softest whisper of, “Aoi, I love you, so, so much.”

Aoi cracked a grin when he realized he had caught Light emotionally off-guard. “Damn,” he muttered, “did I just get to be the eloquent one, for once?”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You have always had moments of verbal coherence, however brief and sporadic they may be.”

Aoi wanted to say something to the effect of, “Asshole,” but he was too filled with affection to say anything other than, “I love you, too.”


End file.
